


Uneasy

by Rosehip



Series: Strange Luck [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cullen's Amell fixation, Gen, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Minor Violence, POV Cullen Rutherford, use of the mage barter system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: Cullen and the other recruits from Bourneshire have their first unsupervised assignments at Kinloch. Cullen knows what he's doing.Totally.This is fine.
Series: Strange Luck [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/519361
Comments: 15
Kudos: 9





	Uneasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/gifts).



> I've tried to make this a stand-alone work, but references to events in several previous chapters of Bourneshire Boys, and particularly Circle Pranks, a work shared between Bourneshire Boys and Strange Luck, occur throughout. It should be fine.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who took a look at this in advance: [1Mocha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1mocha), [MadamSnark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamSnark), [Aubergion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aubergion), and [Starla-Nell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell)

Cullen's classmates shoved around the posted list in the corridor of the templar quarters at Kinloch. This list told them their _futures_. Or at least told them what their instructors thought of them. _We're almost real templars_. They'd finally been doing this long enough to get out from under the shadows of their mentors a little bit during these training visits. They'd still be nearby, but not lurking _right_ over their shoulders. Cullen could hardly wait.

He found his assignment. They gave him the duty of watching the apprentices in the night. _Oh, Maker! That's so important! I can't believe it._ Mage apprentices were the most vulnerable to demons. Nobody would actually become an abomination. Probably. But still.

Farris thumped him on the shoulder. “Look at you, scoring that. Of course Ser Perfect gets something so important.”

“Don't forget extremely boring,” added Sieffre. “By the way, Cullen, your chest is getting puffy. Might want to watch that.”

“I'm sure it won't be boring,” replied Cullen, deflating slightly. Supervising magic classes like Sieffre sounded exciting and didn't require day-sleeping, but he had a duty to perform, anyway.

He broke off from the group and wandered down the hall a ways. As great as it was to go on their first unsupervised assignments... maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask some advice about them, Cullen mused. Quiet conversation and laughter drifted out of the templar library. Cullen looked through the door to find a game of cards in progress. A couple people waved at him casually.

Cullen approached. “Excuse me, have any of you worked on the apprentice floor night shift before?”

“Are you kidding?” Ser Annalise raised an eyebrow. “We all have. Nobody wants...” She broke off and scowled at Ser Clancy, who sat next to her.

“It's something expected of all of us from time to time,” he said, “but most people don't want to do it long-term.”

“Why not?” Cullen asked.

“Well, it's chilly down there, and you have to be quiet so they can sleep. The main thing is sleeping during the day is difficult when the rest of the tower runs on a different schedule. You eat a lot of thrown together food at strange times. It's very important that the children are protected, but it's a bit of a personal sacrifice.”

Annalise and Bran exchanged a look and she added “Don't overthink it too much. If someone's having a nightmare, wake them up if their companions don't, but they probably will. If they can't sleep, don't worry about that, either. Some will pace the hallway, or get back from the library late. That's all fine as long as nobody makes a break for the main door. That almost never happens. We mostly let the apprentices take care of themselves, and they do.”

Cullen deflated a little bit more. “It sounds like they barely need anyone for this job at all.”

Clancy shrugged. “That's the goal. It's unlikely anything will happen, but if it does, you have to be ready. I'll be near the library until late tonight and someone will be by the Great Doors as well, so you'll have plenty of backup. We wouldn't leave you to drift.”

_So much for being a real templar._ There was no way he'd ask for more help. He could do this.

*

They meant it about the cold. He'd passed by, but had _no_ idea. Fire in the kitchens, forges, and laboratories toasted the classrooms and templar quarters almost too much. The apprentice dormitories stood scant yards from the water. Dampness, chill, and magic seeped into everything.

The apprentices sent Cullen odd looks. He wondered why. They should be used to having someone in the hall by now. They vanished into the bathroom a handful at a time and came back out in nightclothes with damp hair.

He heard a feminine squeal right near the door. He turned to look as Silvana Amell jumped straight from her slippers to another apprentice's bed. “Freezing! I'm freezing, freezing, _freezing!”_ she squeaked. It was true, Cullen mused, his face hot. She had been visibly cold. Her thin nightgown did nothing to hide it, or the shape of her.

Jowan- that was the apprentice's name, smiled at her. “Aren't you an ice specialist? You ought to be used to it.”

“I think that makes it woooorse,” she huffed and buried her entire self under his covers with him. Cullen felt his face heat. Only a few locks of her glossy, black, tousled hair stuck out.

Jowan grinned at her, then visibly startled, shooting Cullen a challenging stare through narrowed eyes.

That... couldn't possibly be allowed, could it? Cullen wondered. He looked at the other apprentices. Macsen offered half his bed to one of the new elves, a tiny little creature with light brown skin and fluffy, deep-red hair that she had wrapped under a scarf at the moment. She ducked her head and bit her lip as she accepted. Here and there, several apprentices doubled up, regardless of their sex.

Cullen disapproved. He looked back at Silvana, who had drifted off, already. Jowan rested a hand on her shoulder and read a paper chapbook that didn't look much like it came from the library to Cullen.

Was _that_ allowed? He thought back to what Clancy said on his first visit. A certain amount of misbehaving kept everything running smoothly. Cheap novels might fall under that, but sleeping in one another's beds surely mustn't.

He'd say something at formal lights out and see what they did. Maybe it was nothing. There were, after all, huge piles of pillows everywhere, perfect for piling into. Some of the smallest children built a pillow fort, and an older red-headed girl sprawled across several pillows while a blonde noble-type rubbed her feet with faintly glowing hands. Was  _that_ allowed?! She was five months pregnant, or his name was Hessarian.

He  _knew_ that wasn't allowed.

Everything would be _fine_. When the chimes signaled lights out, he used his carrying-voice, as they'd practiced in training, to say “Light's out, everybody! Everyone, to your own beds! Goodnight.”

Were those murmurs of confusion? Those were  _definitely_ murmurs of confusion.

“But it's so cold tonight,” protested one of the elves. She moved, however. They all did as instructed.

Jowan shook Silvana awake.

“Hm?” She looked around with a furrow in her brow.

Jowan whispered something to her.

“But why?”

“It isn't- isn't proper, apprentice Amell,” replied Cullen.

She moved to her own bed, but not without complaint. “You know as well as I do, Ser, that the rules governing propriety are somewhat different for mages than for other social strata; as we are often reminded.”

She said it with a very upper class accent that should annoy him and didn't. She had a point. Mages lived outside of society. Still, there were _more_ rules for mages, not fewer. He couldn't back down now, could he? Just because a girl with cinnamon colored eyes argued with him? He'd look weak on his very first night. They probably tested him.

The lights dimmed. Time passed. The kids fidgeted, coughed, and cried before others shushed them. Beds creaked incessantly. Occasional wisps drifted around, which was probably all right. Macsen buried himself under his covers, and Cullen glimpsed light through the blanket and the occasional lightning spark. Did he know he was doing it? Cullen discreetly cleansed the area of lingering magic.

Several wisps went out and Macsen jolted out of bed. He snatched his robes from under his pillow and threw them on over his nightshirt. Sparks shot from his hair. He strode past Cullen and down the hall in the direction of the library. _At least he's not heading for the door. That would be awkward._

“Surana, where are you going?”

“Library. Can't sleep anyway.”

“But don't you have chores early in the morning?” Of course he did; he always did. Surana lived in a constant state of causing trouble and enduring the punishment he earned for it.

“My own problem, Rutherford.” He kept walking. A bolt of lightning crackled from his bare feet.

Cullen sighed. After a rocky start, it could almost be said that they were friends, but Macsen Surana was still so very _rude._

Time passed. Cullen didn't think that most of the mages slept deeply. A few, like Jowan, snored. The beds never stopped creaking. He thought at first that Silvana Amell slept, but she lay _too_ still, her beautiful face serene; not undignified and snoring in genuine rest. Some apprentices collected the floor pillows and buried themselves under them. Nobody tried to escape. Nobody turned into an abomination. As far as he could tell, nobody even had a nightmare. (They'd need to actually _sleep_ for that.) Was this an every night thing? How did they manage?

After a very long time, footsteps approached from the direction of the library. Ser Clancy approached with Macsen stalking behind him. Clancy looked content and awake for someone who had to stay up so late, and Macsen, predictably, scowled.

Cullen raised his eyebrows at the two of them.

Clancy replied in whispers to the unspoken question. “I've convinced Surana to get some rest this evening. He isn't always good at it, I'm afraid.”

“I'll try, though,” said Macsen. “Goodnight, Clancy. Cullen.”

“Macsen, I... is something wrong?” Cullen asked as he turned away.

He glanced back and said “You're being a table.” With that, he strode off to his bunk, and climbed into it, fully dressed.

Clancy murmured in a voice that wouldn't carry. “Find me in the morning. I'll have some pointers for you. For now, back up a bit. Pace if you want.”

Cullen backed up. He had plenty to think about, now. The table comment haunted him. Macsen meant it as a metaphor for a templar who made mages nervous. How could he say so? Didn't Macsen understand he was just doing his job? Perhaps he was trying a guilt trip.

He didn't pace until close to morning, when his eyes felt like late-summer dirt and he feared he'd fall asleep standing. Surana prepared for his day and strode off down the corridor again without a word. At last, Cullen's relief arrived, as well as a tranquil who woke up all the apprentices who had to rise before the morning bell to get to their assigned chores on time, minus one.

Cullen couldn't remember a time he wanted sleep so terribly, but he met up with Clancy, anyway. They fetched tea, bread, onions, and pickled herring from the kitchens, which they carried to the empty Great Hall.

“I'm glad you showed,” said Clancy around a bite of bread. “I didn't want to undermine you on your first assignment. Surana explained what he felt was wrong with last night, so I thought we could talk about it so your next shift goes better.”

Resentment bubbled up in the back of Cullen's mind like oozing mud. A mage apprentice _told on him_ to a templar. Behind that was hurt. He and Macsen, well- Macsen would obviously be First Enchanter, someday. Irving trained him for it. Even Greagoir beamed pride at him when Macsen's back was turned. Cullen dreamed of taking Greagoir's place. They'd have to work together. Hadn't they started off well? He stifled all that as a distraction for now, and asked instead, “What did he say?”

“He felt your scrutiny fell unduly on his corner, and mentioned that you wouldn't let them “sleep normally,' as he put it. I had to pry it out of him. He was unhappy, but didn't want to 'make it a whole thing'.”

“So, by sleeping normally he means, together?” Cullen gasped.

“Yes. Not all Circles run this way. They used to separate the apprentices by sex, and discouraged touching. It didn't work out.”

“Why not?”

“Before my time but if you talk to anyone older, they have stories. The mystery caused all sorts of problems. The boys bored holes into the girl's washroom walls. There was an epidemic of underwear theft. They wanted to be near one another. There were so many babies born. Then there came a time when the boy apprentices significantly outnumbered the girl apprentices. The boys' dormitory turned into an overcrowded, angry mass of discontent and strange smells. The First Enchanter and the Knight Commander agreed that could not continue, and housed everyone together. The mystery shattered. Everyone is a little bit disgusting. You can't put someone on a pedestal when you know they squeeze their pimples. They treated everyone more casually and we've had fewer problems, all around. Nobody expected that, but it works. You have a big family. Your parents didn't keep you apart, did they?”

“Well, no, but that's different. We're related.” _Does Silvana Amell squeeze her pimples?_ Cullen wondered. _No way she gets pimples._

“It's best if the apprentices feel like they're related, too. Besides, when the order eased up the prohibitions on touching, and instead the apprentices were encouraged to look out for others, something else unexpected happened.”

Cullen couldn't imagine what, but... “You can't say that they all act like brothers and sisters. One girl is pregnant!”

“Evelina? Yes, she is, poor girl. I promise that didn't happen in a room with fifty other people in it. But speaking of, I was getting to that. Before the current policies? The littlest ones often died.”

“Maker! Of what?”

“Everything. Colds that no-one noticed, freezing in the night...” He looked forcefully at Cullen. “Sometimes you couldn't tell. They just died, or didn't, but grew up fragile. Now that they're allowed to tend one another, they're all much better off. Well, mostly. You've met Jowan if you know Macsen Surana. Nobody adopted him when he arrived at the age of six. He caught a chest cold and didn't complain. The healers saved him after someone finally mentioned his coughing, but he never fully recovered. He still takes embrium frequently.”

Cullen took a bite to stall while he thought about all this. That explained why Jowan looked a little bit... hollowed out, he supposed. Weaker than his friends. “You know all that about Jowan? I thought you didn't think much of him.”

“I worry that his emotions rule him.” He blinked and swallowed before continuing. “That's hard, for a mage. As a templar, I can't ignore it. That doesn't mean I don't hope for the best.”

“So, what do I do now? I have this assignment for a week. How do I repair this, if I enforced a rule they don't follow, here?”

Clancy grinned. “You mean without outright apologizing and being seen as a pushover? I'd have expected you to think of this already, seeing as you've done it before.”

“I have? What have I done before?”

“Enlisted Surana.”

“Oh. Wait! How do you know about that?”

“It is literally my job.”

*

Cullen's feet weighed fifty pounds each. He pushed through his exhaustion and carried himself to the workshop where the Formari Beatrice, and usually Macsen, worked.

Heat flowed out of the door in waves, nearly forcing Cullen to leave, after all. He didn't. He breathed, and stayed still by the wall.

Macsen had discarded his cowl and overskirt-thing, removed the detachable sleeves from his robe, and rolled up the sleeves of his undershirt. He and Beatrice both wore heavy, leather aprons and protective gloves. Unlike every time previous that Cullen came here, Macsen and Beatrice worked on the same task.

They stood at the nearer forge- the one without arcane symbols and glowing blue spatters all over it. Beatrice issued instructions. Macsen immediately obeyed every one. “Pull the bellows.” “Steady this.” They needed two people. They crafted a blade nearly as tall as Beatrice, herself.

_This is a punishment?!_ Cullen wondered. It looked like being a guild journeyman.

Cullen knew they'd seen him but neither acknowledged him at all for several minutes. He doubted they could. He considered leaving, but wasn't sure where to find Macsen, next.

At last, Beatrice called a break. Macsen pumped water into the basin in the corner and stuck his head under the stream. When he'd cleaned his hands and face, straightened his soaked ponytail, and drunk a great deal of water, he turned to Cullen. “Did you need something?” he asked.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. I messed up last night, didn't I? Clancy told me a little about it.”

Macsen thought for a moment before speaking. “You were a bit pushy, and you changed the routine.”

“Nobody told me what the full 'routine' even was. The sisters at Bourneshire gave me different instructions about how things are. It won't happen again.”

“That's good? Why are you telling me this?”

“Could you, possibly help me start over this evening?”

“You could just apologize.”

“Do you really think that is best?”

“It would be novel,” said Beatrice, without looking up from the ingots she sorted.

“I'm concerned that if I do, Greagoir will disapprove, and I'll never get this assignment again, and you'll have this to explain all over.”

Macsen's lips narrowed. “Fine. If you don't want to apologize, you owe me, though.”

Of course he would. Cullen remembered how this worked. “What will you do and what do you want?”

“I'll work the rumor mill that someone told you the wrong thing. I want a spool of good ribbon, or an assortment of lengths.”

“Ribbon?!”

“Yeah. We're all tying our hair back with twine and rags and it's a pain. If we can't keep it looking neat, we get haircuts. I've had mine chopped off twice. Noblewomen bought it for accessories, and I don't need shemlen wearing _pieces of me_.” The words fell out in a rush and his face went rosy. He exhaled with a huff and mumbled “sorry.”

Surely Macsen wouldn't have told him all that on more sleep. _Hmmmm._ “Can you avoid making us all look foolish?”

“I think so. At the very least I can keep everyone from thinking badly of you specifically, and not knowing who told you what.”

“I don't really like a story that makes it look like we don't know what we're doing, though.”

Macsen raised his eyebrows for just a second before catching himself. “How about it was punishment for general rambunctiousness, but now that the order has made its point, things can go back to normal?”

“I think that's better. Thank you. I might be able to get it this week, if I can go to the village while I'm off duty.”

Macsen half-smiled for a second. “Ma serannas. That would be great.”

“And for what it's worth, I didn't mean to be too hard on you all.”

Macsen shrugged. “We've had worse, but thank you.”

*

The sky shone dim lavender through the small windows. Cullen stared at it in confusion. Where was he? What was he supposed to get ready for? Where was everybody else? Had he overslept? Why was the light weird? Then he realized it wasn't early morning, but early evening, and that's why the light came from the wrong part of the windows he recognized, now. His life crept back into his brain. He'd crashed _hard_. The ribbon would have to wait another day. Cullen put himself together and grabbed a large dinner (even though it might make him sleepy) but woke himself up again with a bit of evening air (still cold). He took himself off to his post.

He arrived early to find a templar looking smugly amused. “It might be interesting, today,” he said. “Have fun, kid.” Without elaborating, he strode away.

Cullen seethed about the “kid” crack. His vows would be a couple years, but even so... he shook himself back down to reality. Interesting? Have fun? He turned to the dormitory.

It looked more orderly than last night. Were there fewer colorful wisps? Conversation happened in murmurs. Apprentices read or played chess. Nobody looked directly at Cullen.

A slap of hands hitting stone, a rattle, and a snicker- Cullen looked over to see a handful of human boys standing around, and Macsen sprawled on the floor with his box of toiletries open and scattered. The floor had a subtle shine.

“Hey, did you-” Cullen began, but Macsen gave a tiny, sharp shake of his head. “...Trip? You all right?” Cullen finished weakly.

“I'll be fine, just tired,” Macsen eased himself to his feet. “Thank you for asking.” He gathered his things. The wooden box had a crack in it, and one of the boys placed his foot firmly over a bar of soap. Macsen left it, saying nothing. They all went their separate ways. The shine to the floor eventually... evaporated, or something.

The soap left a smear on the floor though, after the thief picked up the bar. It wasn't the same kind almost everyone in the tower used. It was brown and textured with some kind of herb stirred in. _Do I need to add soap to the shopping list? Or was that about something else?_

Jowan got up from his bookwork and followed Macsen into the bathroom. Cullen thought he saw him staring down one of the boys who probably tripped Macsen, but he couldn't be sure. Clancy's words echoed in Cullen's mind. _I worry that his emotions rule him. That's hard, for a mage._ The cluster of boys followed behind Jowan.

The hair rose on the back of Cullen's neck. If this were Bourneshire, he'd follow as well, prepared to throw hands. But, Clancy suggested a hands-off approach with the apprentices. _Is Macsen Surana a friend or a mage?_

Silvana Amell and the little redhead elf sat on an upper bunk and held hands, pretending they weren't listening. A templar could spot _that_.

A long minute passed. A low argument, a grunt, a curse, and a crash in the bathroom followed. Cullen met Silvana's eyes. She winced, and nodded, once.

_Forget this. Macsen is a... colleague. And a mage, but colleagues don't have to deal with this while I'm around._

He rushed in and found... naked, bathing mages of both sexes who slunk low in their tubs and groaned. He hadn't thought about that. _Eep._ Cullen focused on the important bit- the fight in progress. A bucket of water and a human mage Cullen didn't know lay overturned on the floor. Macsen's long, brown hair rose with static like a cat trying to look big. He did _not_ look big. Something smelled of burning hair. Jowan wheezed and his nose bled. Another boy clutched his cheek.

If Cullen didn't want to throw any punches he needed to save pride on all sides. Or... smear everybody equally. He used his carrying-voice. “That's enough horsing around, are you all five years old? Finish washing up and go to bed, why don't you? Since you seem to need someone else to tell you.”

Everyone looked ready to explain themselves or argue and then they just didn't. Nobody made a sound and instead mopped up the spilled water and hung the towels to dry. If only Leolin and crew backed down so easily. The faction of boys Cullen didn't know left in a hurry. Jowan loaned Macsen some soap when he drew a bath.

Cullen got out of their way. He watched for anything else. He thought one of the other new elves might be sending angry signals to Silvana Amell's little friend, but it didn't escalate. The pregnant girl and her obvious lover kept a bit of space between them, which was for the best, really. Tension thickened the atmosphere but nothing else happened.

Everyone turned to Cullen when the lights dimmed. That felt awkward, but he didn't say anything. One by one the apprentices arranged their beds for sharing. Some of the tension dispersed. Macsen must have kept his word.

Cullen's attention wandered, but nothing happened, until here and there, the telltale blue glow of healing magic shimmered. The apprentices sorted themselves out, he supposed, like Clancy said. He heard Jowan whisper something about owing Silvana, but she shushed him, which seemed very gracious. By midnight, rhythmic breathing alone filled the air.

Sleep was contagious, and armor, supportive. Cullen awoke with a start twice, to find himself leaning on the wall. He paced, it helped. Nothing happened. Relief and boredom joined forces.

At last, Cullen's replacement arrived and the tranquil roused the apprentices who had early chores.

He hurried to the kitchens and drank way too much tea with an egg and bacon sandwich. He didn't have any instruction until later. He'd be all right if he went to the docks today and he may as well get it done.

The ferryman obviously never slept. On the trip over, he chattered about the family who ran the inn (dramatic), the health of the local sheep (mysteriously poor), and the weather (uncommonly fine, if crisp, and likely to stay clear for several days yet) and didn't mind that Cullen only managed amiable grunts in response.

The gentle movement of the boat and the splish of the water lulled Cullen to sleep a few times. The Ferryman rambled on regardless. The bump of the ferry against the pier startled Cullen into full wakefulness. He stumbled onto land, said he hoped not to be long, and trudged towards the beckoning market.

Colorful tents and stands showed gaily against the gray stone of the massive, ancient bridge, long since destroyed, somehow. The remaining abutment sheltered the market against the wind.

Not many customers shopped yet but the energetic vendors bellowed their pitches, anyway.

“Ale! Dark, smoky, dwarven ale, by barrel or tankard!”

“Cloth by the yard, in every color of springtime!”

“Eggs! Fine, laying hens! Nice fat roosters!” The nice fat roosters were also loud and angry.

Cullen rubbed his throbbing temples. Where did ribbon come from? He'd never needed one in his life. He stopped to think by a stand of cheeses, uncomfortably distracted for a moment. Some of them looked like rocks, gray with mold in the way that Alistair liked.

“May I help you young ser?” asked the older Orlesian woman attending the cheese stall.

The impulse to say “yes” startled Cullen. Instead he asked “I'm sorry. I'm not sure where to go for ribbons?”

She pointed towards the stocky, middle-aged blonde selling fabric.

Cullen supposed he should have figured that out. He blamed tiredness.

The fabric seller smiled at him. “You're up early, young man. What can I do for you?”

“I need ribbon?”

“Oh, for a girlfriend, perhaps?”

“My, ah, friend? is a boy.”

“Oh! Well that's all right. What colors does he like?”

 _Oh, crap._ “I mean he's not... we're not...” He sighed. Her eyebrows arched and Cullen suspected it didn't matter what he said at this point. “I'm not sure what color is best. He has long hair and needs to tie it back, that's all.”

She showed him a confusing array of colors and lengths. They ranged from simple bands of solid colors, to patterns of floral tapestry, to a hideously expensive black velvet from Orlais. The sheen on it reminded him of Silvana Amell's hair. He tamped down a fierce impulse to buy some, but he couldn't afford any if he wanted to buy anything else. He settled on an assortment of plain ones with two patterned ones thrown in for variety. A mage might like to see even woven flowers once in a while. The mages' seclusion was necessary. Still, he liked some of them, and there was no reason Macsen shouldn't have hair ribbons, of all the things he could have wanted.

Cullen also picked up a blob of milk soap from a goat farmer. Quickly, before he had time to back out of his resolve, he also bought an aged, weird, cheese; blue with some kind of mold. Alistair hadn't been himself at all, lately. Even if “himself” was always kind of... a problem. Everyone had felt a little down and on edge since the King's death. The transition of power put people on edge as you never knew what the successor would change. The timing was right for him to worry about that noble family of his, but it seemed like that wasn't quite it, with Alistair.

Everything he knew about cheese, Alistair had taught him. It all boiled down to “weird is good”, so hopefully, maybe... this would help, and things could be normal, again. Cullen really needed that. He liked things best when they went smoothly and everyone knew what to expect. Alistair's moods, the tension among the apprentices- it all felt so _uncomfortable._ He had to do what he could to keep things orderly.

Cullen staggered back to the ferry and didn't even try not to sleep on the ride back, leaning comfortably among the crates of carrots and onions the Circle needed. The ferryman chatted anyway, but it merged with the lapping of the water and the calls of birds.

Cullen passed Alistair in the hallway and handed off the cheese without a word. Alistair rewarded him with confusion. Cullen had no idea how to have that conversation, so he just kept going until he fell into his bed to rest until Sieffre fwapped him with a pillow to wake him for an afternoon class, and then work. Always, his duty awaited. It was all right.

That night, when Cullen reached his post, he found he might have wasted his time. Macsen's hair had been shorn to chin length. The elf glared at everyone and buried himself in a book until just before the lights dimmed, when Jowan pulled it out of his hands and gathered him into a long hug. They shared Jowan's bunk that night, which seemed more appropriate to Cullen, whatever Clancy said.

Macsen didn't look at Cullen at all when he passed by in the morning, on the way to his chores. Maybe he couldn't want the ribbon anymore? But mages never did anything for free. When Cullen's relief arrived, he headed to the workshop.

“Did you still want these?” Cullen passed the cheerful twist of ribbons to Macsen, who sat on the workbench, attaching a buckle to an old belt.

Macsen didn't meet his eyes as he accepted it. “I... yeah. Thanks. I'll need them sometime. I knew it was coming, but I couldn't avoid Greagoir enough. He was in a mood.”

“It'll grow back. Though, I don't know why you bother, honestly. It looks like a lot of work.”

Macsen glared out of the corner of his eye, and then sighed. “These are pretty. Thanks again.”

Cullen filled the silence. “So if you... if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you about the other night.”

“Sure?” Macsen's eyebrows arched up with the question though he kept his eyes on his work.

“When those guys gave you a hard time, all of that was because I told you to stop sleeping in the wrong beds?”

Macsen sighed again, but shook his head. “All of that was because something was different. Different without knowing why is stressful.”

“But why did they take it out on you? I'm used to people taking things out on one person but it's usually that they don't like them, or they're an easy target. The other mages don't seem to have that much against you. Irving's apprentice can't be an easy target. So, what was it? I didn't expect a fight, or that they'd steal your soap. ”

“I didn't expect _that_ , specifically. That guy barely bathes, anyway. But what did you think you were Trading _for_?”

The brat. Did he think Cullen was ignorant? But again, they usually got along, so Cullen took a breath. “The trouble you'd have to go to and the knowledge of who to talk to?”

“No. Well, that too? You were paying me for the _risk_. It's one thing to spread a rumor. But any rumor that would help you? Involved lying about templars, which might lead to questions I couldn't answer. That was a worst-case. Far more likely is what happened. If the source of the information is me, and it's hard to prevent people from knowing that with one day to work- then the obvious conclusion is that it's _my fault_. People figured the punishment inflicted on us all was really for something _I_ did. They had to even the score.”

 _Oh. Well then._ “You're not even angry, are you?”

“Not at them. They thought what they thought.”

“Um. Well. I also got this. It's not as fancy as the one you lost but I thought I should replace it with something, if it was my fault you lost yours.” Cullen held out the blob of milk soap, wrapped in a square of muslin.

Macsen's brows gathered and he tilted his head. “Thank you? I didn't expect that. It's nice,” he added as he gave it a sniff.

“I just thought... fair is fair.”

Macsen met his eyes and smiled just a little. “It is.”


End file.
